Idiot - Laura Clery Page 0,60

the first three pages of that feature script back at home taunting me, because I was always too high to work on it. How did getting high become more important than my career?

Throughout my time in LA, I had still been keeping in touch with my old friends from home. Jack was still my best friend, even if we only talked over the phone and online. He was one of the only people who knew I had a problem and encouraged me to fix it. And just as I reached my breaking point with my addiction, Jack’s boyfriend committed suicide. He was devastated. We both needed each other.

During one of our phone calls I had an idea. “Move to LA with me. Let’s start over together.”

“Are you serious?”

“Why the fuck not, dude? There’s no snow here. People wear shorts in winter.”

There was a pause. I held my breath. I heard Jack sniffle. “I do have a lot of shorts that need wearing.”

And just like that, Jack moved to LA to start a new life. With him near me, I tried to do the same.

It’s weird—I had realized I had a problem over and over again in the past, but this was the first time that I felt truly strong enough to be sober. Maybe it was having Jack around and Colleen nearby. Maybe it was the impending auditions I had to go on. Maybe it was my independence. Maybe it was all the AA meetings I had attended, accumulating in the back of my mind—all the people I had watched become sober and successful. Whatever it was, I could really see that my addiction was getting in the way of my goals. I was finally ready to change.

I walked to the Log Cabin Community Center, where my AA meetings were held, and stood outside for a moment. I could still go back home and light up . . . literally anything. I’d smoke lawn clippings at this point if it could numb my dread. Unfortunately, California was in a drought and there were only succulents around.

There were, however, about fifty twentysomething, punk-looking kids covered in tattoos, sitting around outside, smoking cigarettes. I had seen them before when I had gone to meetings, but never really took notice of them. They were laughing . . . and bright eyed. They looked clear and happy. Is this what sobriety looks like? Nah, they must be high!

I must have been staring for too long, because this badass-looking, tattooed girl came over to me. She did a grand gesture with her arms.

“Welcome.”

“Thanks,” I muttered, but I didn’t move.

“Are you going in?” she continued.

I hesistated. I wanted to get sober, of course, but I had been to meetings before. I knew that when I went inside, they would ask us to turn ourselves over to God, and then I would immediately check out like I had always done.

I could still hear my dad’s voice in the back of my head: “FUCK ORGANIZED RELIGION! It’s bullshit. And eat another hot dog, Laura, you’re too skinny!”

There was no way I’d believe any of this. Okay, bye!!! Yet there was something about this tatted woman’s kind face. I told her everything on my mind. She just smiled at me.

“No, no, we’re not a religious program. God can be any higher power of your own understanding. It could be the sun or mother nature. It can be anything.”

“Penguins?”

“If you want.”

Okay, well, I am deeply fond of penguins.

I took a deep breath and walked inside. And from there . . . I just did it. I was ready and open. I got on my knees and turned myself over to the penguins or whoever the fuck was looking out for me.

I started to learn things that changed my life. I badly needed to find happiness, to let go of whatever horrible feelings about myself that I felt the urge to numb and ignore.

The first thing I learned was the Serenity Prayer:

God, grant me the serenity

To accept the things I cannot change;

Courage to change the things I can;

And wisdom to know the difference.

It sounds so simple, but it was huge for me. If I was unhappy with a situation, I either needed to truly accept it or—if possible—to work through my fear in order to change it. I started to apply this to my acting. If I was unhappy with the work I was getting or the lack thereof, I couldn’t drink and ignore it. I needed to have the courage